


Nam, Et Si Ambulavero In Medio Umbræ Mortis

by nerdypipsqueak



Series: The Princess and the Knight [18]
Category: Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Flashbacks, Homophobic Language, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22436401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak
Summary: Set in the "Princess and the Knight" universe. The aftermath of what happened in Daraa, from Ned's point of view. Or a year spent on the edge of consciousness.Written for Christina_Marie for this challenge: https://lifeorbeth.tumblr.com/post/123078064702/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-writePrompt: on the edge of consciousness.
Relationships: Ali ibn el Kharish/T. E. Lawrence
Series: The Princess and the Knight [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504913
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Nam, Et Si Ambulavero In Medio Umbræ Mortis

He's cold. Burning, his entire body on fire with pain, but cold at the same time. He's wet, filthy, sticky and so terribly, terribly cold. He tries to cover himself but his clothes are in shreds.

He's not sure where he is anymore, he's not sure how long he's been... here. He's not even scared anymore, just... just numb. 

Cold.

And on fire.

All of a sudden there's hands on him.

"No, please..." Ned groans. "Not again... Please."

"Hush, princess." A familiar voice penetrates the icy fog surrounding Ned's brain. Strong arms wrap around him, scooping him up. His head tips backwards, the stars are so beautiful...

Ned has never really considered himself beautiful. Well looked after, yes, he's always been careful about his appearance. But beautiful? Come on! He's too tall, too thin, too pale. 

Ali doesn't seem to mind that at all. Ali thinks Ned is beautiful. Ali touches him like he's a work of art, gently but incredibly firmly at the same time. He's so powerful, so _deliciously_ forceful and Ned loves it. Ned loves him.

There's a rumbling noise, an engine probably, and lots of shaking. It's oddly soothing, that rumbling, Ned wants nothing more than to melt into it, to dissolve, disappear and feel no more.

"Hush, hush." A very warm hand cups his cheek. "I've got you, princess. I've got you, darling."

Ned forces himself back to reality. He recognises that hand, that voice. "Ali?"

"Yes, princess. It's me. I've got you."

"My gallant knight..." Ned murmurs. He can feel himself slipping away, as if drifting off to sleep. He doesn't have the strength to hold on any longer. He feels so disoriented, so broken and the pain is just too much to handle...

He's floating, warm and a little bit heavy, like he's swimming in custard. It's actually really nice, this must be what babies feel when they're still in the womb.  
But the warmth is starting to fade. Ned moans in protest, he wants to stay here and just be, just drift. Suddenly the warmth disappears completely and he's on a hard, cold floor and there's a painful, splitting pressure between his legs, piercing his insides... He's got to get away, he can't, they can't...

"Princess. You're safe now. I'm here." Ali's hand is on his and Ned can't stand the feeling. His skin is crawling, it feels filthy, if Ali carries on touching him like that he's bound to become soiled too...

In his haste to get away, to keep Ali from getting dirty Ned almost throws himself off the bed he's lying in. "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry, princess." Ali withdraws. He looks sad. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I promise."

"Don't touch me. Don't touch me. I'm ruined. Unclean. I'm contaminated."

"You're not ruined, princess, not to me, never to me. You're beautiful and pure. I love you."

Ned tries to say something but at this point all he can manage is a pathetic little whine. He pulls the thin blanket around himself and shuts his eyes. He lies there for a few minutes and waits for Ali to settle back down. Only then he opens his eyes again and looks around. Auda, the slightly crazy antiques dealer and Ali's best friend Majid are curled up by the wall, wrapped in sleeping bags. Prince Feisal is snoring lightly in a reclining armchair beside Ned's bed. His bodyguard, an imposingly tall black man by the name of Hejris, is asleep in a chair by the door. The room itself is white from floor to ceiling and smells of disinfectant. It's a hospital. Ned can't remember arriving here. The past few hours are a blur, a flurry of images, sounds, smells. The obnoxiously loud ticking of an antique clock, the heavy, suffocating scent of cheap cologne, hands, many, many hands holding him down, invading him, no, no, nononono... A sudden rush of warmth floods his mind and he's floating, drifting...

Ned's uncomfortable. It's not the pain, he's on some seriously strong medication and he can barely feel the pain. But his skin is crawling, itching, like there's thousands of tiny insects burrowing through his veins, just beneath the surface. He feels disgusting, filthy, unclean.

"Would you like to have a shower?" Ali asks softly. "Majid brought you some clothes and toiletries. You could get changed into something more comfortable."

At this point Ned will do anything to make the crawling feeling go away. A shower might help.

It takes him a while to get to the bathroom, he's very weak and now that he's moving he can actually feel the pain in his back and... and between his legs. It's sickening.  
By the time he's got into the shower he's so tired he just sinks to the ground and lets the water flow over him. It's hot, almost scorching, maybe the heat can burn away all those little insects crawling just beneath his skin. Maybe it can cleanse him of the memory of strange hands invading the most intimate parts of his body.

_Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo et mundabor,_   
_Lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor._

Ned gazes at his reflection in the mirror. He barely recognise himself, there's angry bitemarks on his neck and a vaguely boot-shaped bruise on his cheek. Ned touches the bruise tentatively. It hurts a little but it's a dull ache, hardly there at all. His fingertips ghost over the bitemarks. They're savage, some crusted with dried blood. They're nothing like the marks Ali so liked to leave on Ned's neck, little proprietary marks that seemed to say: "I love you, you're mine but I don't own you". These are vicious, foreign. Everything about Ned feels foreign now. He's lost control, he lost an integral part of himself and nothing can bring that back. He's soiled, unclean, broken. How could Ali possibly love him now?

Ned's drifting. He can't focus on anything, he can't read or even watch TV. The memories of what happened in Daraa keep replaying themselves over and over again in his head and in front of his very eyes whenever he shuts them. It's hell, sickening, suffocating. He can't eat, he can't sleep.

"Ned. What have you done to yourself?" A bony hand runs through his hair and Ned flinches.

Mother.

Mother is here. And so are Bob and Arnie. 

Cold dread trickles down Ned's spine. Mother's here. She can see exactly what had happened to him, she knows.

"It's not his fault." Ali protests. "If you need to blame someone then blame me. I should never have allowed him to go alone."

"You're right. You shouldn't have. But he also should have been more careful." Mother retorts.

More careful. She's right, Ned realises. He should have been more careful. He shouldn't have gone in there alone. He shouldn't have gone undercover altogether. He should have let Ali's men handle it themselves. He'd put himself in harm's way. It's his fault.

_"You have such beautiful blue eyes."_

_"_ _I know who you really are and you'd better be nice to me if you want to live."_

Hands. Sweaty, calloused, dry, smooth, large. Fingers in his hair, hands on his throat, his knees, between his thighs... Cold stone beneath his belly, warm blood trickling down his back...

"Ned?! Ned, are you listening?"

Ned nods slowly. He doesn't have the strength to speak, his entire body feels heavy, like the marrow in his bones has been replaced with lead.

Mother places a piece of paper and a pen in front of him. "You need to sign this so that we can go home soon."

Ned scans the paper, barely comprehending it's contents. "I would like to inform you that I am resigning from my position as director... effective immediately... I didn't write this, mother."

"But we discussed this, don't you remember? We agreed that this is not a good environment for recovery, we agreed that the best thing for you now is to go home."

Ned feels confused. He doesn't remember having a conversation with his mother about quitting his job. There's many things he doesn't remember, chunks of time that seem to have gone missing.

"Listen to me, Ned." Mother says coldly. "You came all the way here God knows why and got yourself into trouble. The best thing you can do now is go home with us."

"Alright." Ned signs the letter.

The sound of an incoming text message startles Ned out of his stupor. Before he can even brace himself to reach out for his phone Bob has already picked it up and is doing something with it.

"What's that?" Ned asks. His voice sounds hoarse, foreign. He's not been using it much.

"Nothing of any importance." Bob says without looking up.

"Is that Ali?" Ned's not seen or spoken to Ali since the hospital. Such a long silence is unusual, to say the least. When they were together they never went longer than two hours without speaking to one another.

"Ned, Ned, Ned." Bob crouches in front of Ned's armchair. "That man, Ali doesn't care about you. People like you two aren't capable of caring, of forming relationships. All they want is sex. He slept with you, had his fun and now he's bored. I know it's hard but the sooner you accept that the better for you. It will help you recover, rebuild your life, repent and find your path."

Ali's not like that, Ned wants to protest, _I'm_ not like that, I'm not incapable of love.

I'm damaged. Unclean. Broken. Ali can never love me again. Not like this.

Wake up. Bath. Try to eat breakfast. Drift. Bath. Drift. Try to eat lunch. Drift. Bath. Drift. Try to have a nap. Bath. Drift. Try to eat dinner. Try to read. Drift. Bath. Sleep. Wake up. Get dressed. Go out. Wander. Drift. Go home. Sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

He misses Ali. The feel of Ali's strong arms wrapping around him. Those warm lips, the silky wetness of his tongue, the things that wicked tongue can do. It's so odd. He can't imagine himself allowing anyone to see him or touch him ever again, yet when he thinks of Ali... They were happy. Ali gave him love, kindness, respect. Ali showed him pleasure unlike anything he'd ever experienced. 

_"You've got to pull yourself together. There's no need for you to be sitting around like that all day long."_

The water is almost too hot to be comfortable but that's exactly how Ned likes it. It makes him feel clean, if only for a few minutes. He knows all too well that he will never be clean again, not after what those men in Daraa did to him.

Ned runs a hand down his neck. The bitemarks are gone but he still remembers where they used to be. 

Ali used to bite him too but not as viciously, not enough to break the skin. Just enough to mark him, to leave a clear message: this man is mine. But Ned isn't Ali's anymore. Bloody hell, Ned doesn't even belong to himself! His body is a foreign object, a machine he's been asked to operate with no training and no manual. It doesn't hurt anymore, not physically but he knows it's different, scarred. He's not seen the scars, he can't bring himself to inspect them. It all feels wrong: his skin, his insides, his frame. 

_"I'm so sick of your moping. You need to man up!"_

Janet comes over to visit. Ned tries to be polite and make conversation but it's extremely tiring. Thankfully Janet doesn't stay long, she gets into an argument with Mother and ends up leaving after less than an hour. A few days later Claire comes by with her two Labradors, Leo and Banner. The dogs are very affectionate but Ned doesn't mind at all. They're soft, cuddly and give him an excuse not to talk.

Vyvyan texts to ask if he can come over. Ned's not sure, he doesn't really want to see Vyvyan. He can still remember very _vividly_ what happened between them, what had prompted him to accept the job offer in Jordan. He remembers Vyvyan's tongue pushing into his mouth, the scrape of his teeth...  
In the end Ned decides to sleep on it. Four days later he realises he's still not responsed.

"Princess. Princess, it's me..." 

Fingertips graze Ned's shoulder and he flinches. Unclean. Disgusting. It takes a minute or so for him to focus on the speaker, the dark-haired man kneeling in front of him.

"Ali?"

"Yes, princess, it's me."

Ali. Ali's here. But that's impossible. Surely Ali wouldn't travel this far just to be with Ned?! Who would?

"You really are here." Ned reaches out to touch Ali but quickly retreats. What if he disappears or becomes unclean?

"I am."

Ali is here, really here. And Ned feels oddly alive again.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is Psalm 22/5: Yea though I walk in the midst of the shadow of death  
> The quote in the middle of the story is Psalm 51(50): Thou wilt sprinkle me, O Lord, with hyssop and I shall be cleansed


End file.
